"King of the butterflies; but by this gloom,
And by old Rhadamanthus' tongue of doom,
This dusk religion, pomp of solitude,
And the Promethean clay by thief endued,
By old Saturnus' forelock, by his head
Shook with eternal palsy, I did wed
Myself to things of light from infancy;
And thus to be cast out, thus lorn to die,
Is sure enough to make a mortal man
Grow impious. So he inwardly began
On things for which no wording can be found;
Deeper and deeper sinking, until drowned
Beyond the reach of music: for the choir
Of Cynthia he heard not, though rough briar
Nor muffling thicket interposed to dull
The vesper hymn, far swollen, soft and full,
Through the dark pillars of those sylvan aisles,
He saw not the two maidens, nor their smiles,
Wan as primroses gathered at midnight
By chilly-fingered spring. "Unhappy wight!
Endymion!" said Peona, we are here !

What wouldst thou ere we all are laid on bier?"
Then he embraced her, and his lady's hand
Pressed, saying: "Sister, I would have command,
If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate."
At which that dark-eyed stranger stood elate
And said, in a new voice, but sweet as love,
To Endymion's amaze: By Cupid's dove,
And so thou shalt ! and by the lily truth
Of my own breast thou shalt, beloved youth!
And as she spake, into her face there came
Light, as reflected from a silver flame :
Her long black hair swelled ampler, in display
Full golden: in her eyes a brighter day

Dawned blue and full of love. Ay, he beheld
Phoebe, his passion! joyous she upheld
Her lucid bow, continuing thus: "Drear, drear
Has our delaying been; but foolish fear
Withheld me first; and then decrees of fate;
And then 'twas fit that from this mortal state
Thou shouldst, my love, by some unlooked-for change
Be spiritualised. Peona, we shall range
These forests, and to thee they safe shall be
As was thy cradle; hither shalt thou flee

To meet us many a time." Next Cynthia bright
Peona kissed, and blessed with fair good night:
Her brother kissed her too, and knelt adown
Before his goddess, in a blissful swoon.
She gave her fair hands to him, and behold,
Before three swiftest kisses he had told,
They vanished far away!-Peona went

Home through the gloomy wood in wonderment.

HADI a man's fair form, then might my sighs

Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell
Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
Would passion arm me for the enterprise :
But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;
No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;
I am no happy shepherd of the dell

Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.
Yet must I dote upon thee-call thee sweet,
Sweeter by far than Hybla's honeyed roses
When steeped in dew rich to intoxication.
Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,
And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
I'll gather some by spells and incantation.

II.

WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON.

WHAT though, for showing truth to flattered

state,

Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he, In his immortal spirit, been as free As the sky-searching lark, and as elate. Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait? Think you he naught but prison walls did see Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key? Ah, no far happier, nobler was his fate! In Spenser's halls he strayed, and bowers fair, Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew With daring Milton through the fields of air: To regions of his own his genius true

Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?

H

III.

OW many bards gild the lapses of time !
A few of them have ever been the food

Of my delighted fancy-I could brood
Over their beauties, earthly or sublime:
And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
But no confusion, no disturbance rude
Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.

So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;
The song of birds-the whisp'ring of the leaves—
The voice of waters- the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound-and thousand others more,
That distance of recognisance bereaves,

Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.

N

IV.

TO G. A. W.

YMPH of the downward smile, and sidelong glance,

In what diviner moments of the day

Art thou most lovely? When gone far astray
Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance?
Or when serenely wand'ring in a trance

Of sober thought? Or when starting away,
With careless robe, to meet the morning ray,
Thou spar'st the flowers in thy mazy dance?
Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,
And so remain, because thou listenest:
But thou to please wert nurtured so completely
That I can never tell what mood is best.

I shall as soon pronounce which grace more neatly
Trips it before Apollo than the rest.

V.

SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep-